"I don't think so. I think you're just an innocent bystander in all of this."
Then she opened the door. Detective Placard stood outside. He'd been joined by another officer who looked as if he might lose his jaw looking at Naomie. She brushed aside the obvious interest and said,
"We're ready for you now."
"For something that wasn't supposed to take long, you took long enough."
"We had to marshal our forces. You understand, I'm sure."
"And I have to catch the bad guy, you understand, I'm sure." The Detective levered his bulk into a chair on the opposite side of the table from Kevin and asked,
"Now would you like to tell me where you were last night?"
Kevin stared at him sullenly, but said,
"I don't remember where I was last night. The last thing I remember was going to the Trubeau Theater to talk to the clerk there, Caitlyn, about the new locks they put in place after someone stole my box."
"About that box?"
Naomie expected him to come out with a manila folder. They were pretty standard. In fact, she expected him to come out with crime scene photos. Shock tactic to try and get Kevin to admit to something. As expected, the folder hit the table and opened. The photo on top portrayed a blackened cabinet.
"Is this your box?" Placard asked before pushing the photo toward Kevin. As he did, Naomie looked at the one underneath. It was worse. Kevin studied the photograph and said,
"Yes, that's my box. I recognize the decorations."
"Good, now we're getting somewhere."
The detective reached down and pushed the second photo at Kevin.
"This is what we found in it this morning at 3 am."
Someone had set the inside on fire. A body stood in it. From the looks of it, perhaps the person had been banging on the cabinet door when the fire started.
"You can imagine our surprise when we respond to a fire at an office building and find not only a stolen cabinet but a body in the box." Placard was being mild, nonchalant, as if he saw things like this all the time. It was just a tactic to draw out Kevin's outrage. If he had any. Naomie put her hand on Kevin's arm as he looked at the second photo.
"I didn't do this," Kevin said.
"Then who did?"
"How would I know? I reported that piece stolen weeks ago." Kevin's voice rose and Naomie squeezed his arm. He needed to stay calm. Baiting him into an admission played right into the detective's game.
"You are telling me you had nothing to do with this, yet you can't give me a reason why I should believe that. You won't even tell me where you were last night." The third was an autopsy photo. "We identified a beautiful young lady by her teeth this morning. Do you have any idea what that's like?"
"No. I'm a magician not a cop."
"And I'm going to guess you'll tell me this was done by magic?"
"No." Kevin answered defensively. "I don't know how this was done. I don't know anything about this and I want to go home. If you're not charging me with something, I want to go home."
"Oh, we're charging you with something all right. You're going up the river for murder. You have no alibi and it was your equipment she was found in. It might not be much, but it'll be enough to put you away while I find more."
"This interview is over. Book him and be done," Naomie said. The next thing to come out of Kevin's mouth might be damning and she had let this go on for long enough. Now she knew Kevin wasn't lying when he said he didn't remember. It was hard to continually lie under pressure. The truth will out was more than just a Shakespeare quote.
Detective Placard let his grumpiness show on his face. Naomie considered that the day was still Saturday and the detective thought he was sitting across from a scumbag murderer who was playing a pretty lawyer for a patsy. That was not the case. Kevin was innocent. Now all she had to do was find some way to prove it.
Naomie didn't stay for the booking process. Her presence didn't help or hurt. Instead, she got into her car and considered exactly what she would tell her boss when he asked why she involved herself. Monday morning would mean a meeting with a partner and possibly getting her ass chewed for taking a case the firm might not get paid for. Either way, she refused to turn away. She would prove Kevin's innocence before a jury, no matter what the evidence said. All they had was a flimsy connection and a lousy alibi. She wouldn't even have to work hard if that was all they could come up with. However, she knew Detective Placard's dogged determination would come up with other roadblocks. She would have time to sit down with her client and work something out. Right after she figured out how much of her current caseload she would need to give away in order to be able to take this.
She drove away from the station with her mind a swirl of possibilities. Not all of them good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Marie had already washed the dishes and put everything away when Naomie came from the police station. There was a new pot of coffee on in case she wanted it for while she was writing and Ray had staked out a position in the living room to watch something, Marie wasn't sure what. He answered the door and kissed his girlfriend. Marie stood in the doorway watching them.
"How'd it go?"
"I think Kevin might be in big trouble," Naomie said sliding her briefcase to the side of the door near the hall closet. "He's got no alibi."
"What do you mean, he's got no alibi? Of course he does. He always knows what's going on even when he's piss drunk."
"Well, he doesn't know what happened last night and that is what's important. The Detective hit him with the crime scene photos and Kevin couldn't do anything but get angry. He had no defense."
Wiping her face with her hands, Marie made herself take a deep breath and let it out slow. Kevin was going to be okay. Naomie would make everything right again. Those thoughts chased each other around in her head. Coming into the living room, she found herself a seat on the couch. Naomie came to sit with her and leaned over to give her a hug.
"It's going to be okay."
The same tears she had refused earlier threatened again. So far she managed not to cry. Fear and guilt kept bringing them to the forefront, but she fought them off.
"What do I need to do?"
"Right now, there's nothing you can do. When they arraign him and assign him to the prison, then you can visit him, but there isn't a whole lot you can do. What I will advise you not to do is try to give him an alibi. It's an obvious tactic and will punch holes in any credibility that he has."
Normally Marie would have found Naomie's accent soothing, but right then, with her delivering such terrible news, she found it grating and annoying. She took another cleansing breath. This wasn't Naomie's fault. This was her fault. If she hadn't called the police, they still wouldn't have him and everything would have been fine. It would have blown over. The adolescent part of her that thought everything always improved with time insisted she had done the wrong thing. The more adult part of her reminded her that there would be consequences for harboring a wanted criminal. No way to win. She rubbed the couch with her fingertips and listened to the zipping sound it made.
Ray muted the television as a commercial came on.
"Do you want to tell her what you told me?"
Marie looked up and blinked rapidly.
"Yes."
"Tell me what?"
"I think something is happening." Marie got up and left the room. When she came back, she had both the manuscript of "Grave Silence" and the book. "I was talking to Ray earlier about a dream he had." Then she stopped. "Ray, why don't you tell her about the dream first?"
At first, he looked at his hands, obviously unsure where to begin. Naomie finally reached out and nudged his knee before the words fell out.
"I went to bed the other night. I was rereading "Grave Silence" because you know I love the book. When I woke up, I laid outside of Rosewood Cemetery, that's the cemetery where everything happens in the book. I got up and went inside. Once I was inside, I found myself walking on dying roses. When
I reached the tree in the center of the graveyard, I could tell something was wrong. It had long slashes in it like someone had been hacking at it with a knife. Then I saw the Gravekeeper and I woke up."
Marie could tell from the look on Naomie's face that she wasn't seeing the connection. A connection she had made only after what might have been an overwhelming amount of evidence.
Tim stood in the shadow of the oak looking up into the branches, his right hand still covered in the blood of his best friend. Keyana was somewhere among the grave markers, he knew he needed to go find her soon before the frost settled on her, but how would he get her home? Could he take her home now? The branches held their dark secrets above the ground, the roses of the bush still hung there, holding their bloody mouths closed in the chilling wind of October. His best friend was dead. The warmth of tears on his face distracted him a moment from the near burning at his ears from the slice of the wind.
A flickering movement above drew his eyes. A single rose detached itself from its vine and dropped heavily to the ground smacking like skin on skin. Tim picked it up, turning it over in his hands. The edges of the petals were brown and gray as though it had been on the ground long enough to rot. It had hung directly above the scar left in the wood by the Grave Keeper's attempts to bring down the ancient tree. Another rose fell to the ground, already turning the color of cold ashes. As the wind slid through again, a low whistle building into a howl as it made for parts unknown, the leaves of the oak began to fall.
"It's dying, Key," he whispered under the wind. "It's dying. He's still going to escape." Tim threw the rose down at his feet then stomped on it. "Key, I'm sorry."
He turned to the gates of the cemetery and started running. Someone needed to know what had happened. Mrs. Richards was going to cry. He could already see it and he couldn't even tell her the truth.
When Marie finished reading, she said,
"Somehow, Ray dreamed an ending I never published."
"That's impossible," Naomie said.
"But it's true. And you dreamed of the Mad Princess, even though you've never read any of my books."
"That doesn't mean anything. You've probably told me about it in one of a million conversations."
"That's what Ray said. However, there was no way he could have known about the falling roses or the scars on the tree unless someone gave him the idea."
"You did," Naomie said, but the protest grew weaker. Her mind made the connections as well. Just as fast, but she had every reason not to believe. Being an unbeliever was safer.
"Kevin said he couldn't remember what happened last night. All he did remember was some dream he had and waking up here talking to you." Naomie shook and rubbed her arms.
"He babbled on about being kept in a box," Marie said. "That and he needed light. Wherever he had been it was dark and cold."
Marie spared a thought for how cold he must be now locked in a cell with heaven only knew who.
"These dreams mean something," said Marie. "I just wish I knew what. There's something else." She shuffled the papers in front of her until she had two in front of her. Naomie would recognize the first as it was a digital rendering of something she had done with her own hand. The other came from a still shot of a crime scene.
"You recognize this?" Marie asked. Naomie nodded.
"I drew that for you back before the first book came out as a promotional piece."
"Exactly." She moved that piece of paper away and handed Naomie the second. The photographs in the background were mere outlines; Marie had managed to enhance the image enough to make the symbol truly stand out. "That came from a photograph of Sylvia's living room. It was drawn on the wall over the top of a bunch of pictures she kept there."
"How would Sylvia know about that?"
"I don't think she did. You see, I had a dream not long after she was pronounced dead that the Gravekeeper was actually the one that killed her. He beat her to death while I watched and was unable to stop it."
"Now you really are talking crazy," Naomie said. "Sylvia was beaten to death by an unknown assailant or assailants. They still wonder if one person could have hit her hard enough to cause all that damage."
"That's what the official record says because official records can't take into account anything you can't weigh or measure, but I'm telling you I saw Sylvia die and it wasn't by the hand of any man."
"You'll have a hard time proving that one in court," Naomie said.
"Marie," Ray broke in. "What does all this mean anyhow? That's the part I don't get. We're having strange dreams. Something might be happening. What is going on?"
And for that she had no answer. What did it all mean? It could mean they were chosen for something wonderful or terrible or strange or any number of other words. It could mean something was coming through using them as a doorway. It could mean anything. To Ray's question, she shrugged, admitting her ignorance.
"I don't know. I wish I did."
"So what do we do in the meantime while we figure that out?"
"Keep an eye out for any other strange dreams. Maybe there will be more clues soon." Marie took the piece of paper back from Naomie when she waved it at her. It went back into the pile. "I do have one theory, though."
"What?" The eagerness for her to explain came out on both of their faces.
"I based each of the creatures in the stories on one of you. Ray, you got the Gravekeeper. Naomie is the Mad Princess and Kevin the Jester. I'd lay money you're having dreams about each of them because in that way you're connected."
"Wait, you based the Mad Princess on me?" Naomie looked less than pleased about that little fact. "Exactly what parts of me?"
"Just the you that you don't show to everyone. That less political face." Then Marie shrugged. "I just thought it would make a fascinating villain and apparently it did. The Mad Princess is a crowd favorite."
"I still don't know how I feel about you basing a creature on me."
"I think it's kinda flattering," Ray said. "To have something immortal patterned after you. And I have to admit, I find the Mad Princess kinda hot."
"That line of discovery is better left alone, Ray," Naomie said. "So you think we're attached to these things because you based them on us. Anything else you failed to mention?"
"Nothing. That's all I have."
"Well, that isn't much and I'd like to get some restful sleep at night, thank you."
"The dreams don't come every night, just sometimes."
As the two were discussing the dreams and whether or not they needed to be worried about getting to sleep at night, Marie was thinking of something else. Her mind was a turn back at the fact that things were connected to the real world. Her friends weren't the only thing she used for inspiration. There were places and other books. All of it had a place in her personal canon. In fact, hadn't she just recently talked to a man who worked at Mossy Oak cemetery, the forbearer of the Rosewood? Of course, she had. He'd come to visit her at the Hannibal Bazaar. The flowers he brought were still dying in a vase in her office. What if the connection extended to those places as well? What could that mean? She would have to visit and find out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
After cooking dinner for the three of them, Marie set about cleaning up the kitchen. Her thoughts were a broil with conflicting wants. She wanted Kevin home, but if he was dangerous, he needed to stay where he was. She wanted to know that everything was fine, but knew without a doubt, something was wrong.
Naomie popped her head in while Marie was elbow deep in soapy water.
"Are you going to be okay here alone?"
The prospect of hours stretching before her without any true distraction set off a note of panic in Marie's mind. Yet she put on a smile.
"I'll be fine. I'm just gonna sit down, pound out some words, and then go to bed. I've got something to help me sleep." She didn't say besides wine, though the thought occurred to her. Naomie gave her a quizzical look and then stepped into the kitchen. With a lowered voice, s
he said,
"If you need someone to be here, that's not a bad thing."
"I don't need someone to babysit me just because my husband is not here. I'm perfectly capable of waking and sleeping in my own house without supervision."
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Yes, but that's how it sounds. I'll be fine. Take Ray and go home. If something strange happens or I have another dream, I'll let you know."
With that brusque brush-off, she went back to doing the dishes. Company might have been a good idea, but she had been in company all day. She needed some alone time and this would get it for her. Ray and Naomie would go home to their own bed and she would have the house to herself just like when Kevin played venues out of town. It would be perfectly fine.
Ray came in to say thank you for dinner and goodbye to his hostess and then she heard the front door open and close. She was blessedly alone. Part of her wanted to collapse exhausted from the day. The night before had garnered little sleep. The day had gone on at a steady march. Marie had fought an internal war and depending on how one looked at it, she had lost. Could she still call herself a loyal wife after turning in her husband for a possible murder? The more she thought about it the flimsier it became. All she had was one blood stain and the detective's assertion that Kevin had done something terrible. Maybe the blood was his. Or maybe he'd stopped to help someone. There were other scenarios.
She brought her hands down on the counter hard. This was useless thinking. It was already done. Kevin resided in a cell next to another possible criminal. None of it could be traced to her.
Her guilt refused to be shut away and fresh tears sprung up in her eyes.
How could she have been so stupid?
Half finished dishes sat in the sink waiting to be rinsed and she paced away from the basin. Her hands dripped patterns on the floor with minor bubbles. In the bathroom, she dried her arms and moved into the spare bedroom. Clearing her bag out of the chair where she'd thrown it, she sat down in front of the computer and awakened the beast.
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